By morning, the empire was no longer silent.
The wind howled like it carried the whispers of a thousand restless souls.
The capital, already shrouded in the veil of grief from the Emperor's passing, had now fallen into a state of complete despair.
Two bells echoed across the sky.
Twice.
The first bell was for the Emperor.
The second... was for his only son.
News of the Crown Prince's death spread like wildfire.
Every corner of the empire buzzed with disbelief. Denial. Grief.
People left their homes to see with their own eyes the site of the tragedy.
At the edge of the forest, just beyond the palace gates, where the path from the Cold Palace curved toward the imperial road, there was blood.
Blood soaked the dirt, staining the earth dark.
Bodies littered the path. Dozens of them.
They were dressed in black. Assassins. Ambushers.
But no one was rejoicing.
Because amidst them, there was no sign of the prince.
Only the trail of blood that led away.
